


Fuck the Friendzone

by thepuffyeyedpuff



Category: Outer Banks (TV)
Genre: Childhood Friends, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendzone, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 08:07:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25740088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepuffyeyedpuff/pseuds/thepuffyeyedpuff
Summary: "We are friends, right?"And the hesitation in her tone, it's something he's never heard in her voice before."Yeah, of course. Totally."Just fucking friends.
Relationships: JJ (Outer Banks)/Reader, JJ/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 25





	Fuck the Friendzone

She's a mess in the morning. Hair tousled and t-shirt half hanging off her shoulders. It's a real fucking turn on. He's hard, and it's not even ten in the morning.

She grabs the carton of milk from the fridge and takes a swig. 

"That's disgusting. How can you drink regular milk like that?"

"Says the guy who has a glass of orange juice with his bowl of Cheerios." She says, mouth full of milk. She hops up onto the counter. Her t-shirt - fuck, no, his t-shirt - rides up her thighs, exposing the black frilly lace of her panties. 

He swallows. 

"Only to wash down the nutty aftertaste."

It's not a good argument. He knows this.

"Whatever." 

She says that a lot. He doesn't think she means it half the time.

"I'm going surfing this afternoon. Wanna come?" She says, crossing her legs. The fabric of her shirt bunches up around her crotch. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. His knee jerks and hits the underside of the kitchen table with a clatter.

"You good?"

"Mm." He nods.

No. He's not fucking okay.

"So?"

"So what?"

"You comin'?" She jumps off the counter and reaches for a bowl on the top shelf in the cabinet behind her. 

Oh. That. 

“Yeah. Yeah, sure. Okay. Yeah."

He nods a little too enthusiastically.

She turns around, brow raised. The corner of her lip is turned up ever so slightly. 

"Cool?"

Not really.

"Yeah. Totally."

"Okay. Cool." She says, all smart and cool-like. "Meet me on the beach at two. But don't wear those loud palm tree shorts of yours. They’re embarrassing."

Yeah.

Okay.

Cool.

X

She's a natural when it comes to surfing. Like a thunderstorm in the middle of June.

He's usually good at surfing too, but when he's with her he's too busy watching her to actually pay attention to the waves. So, he just ends up wiping out and making a complete fool of himself.

She laughs. It's sweet like those candied hearts she used to give him back in grade school for Valentine's Day.

"You know you're supposed to ride the waves, not hug them, right?"

“Yeah? What can I say? I’m a hugger.”

She snorts and shakes her head. A salt-slick strand of hair falls directly over her brow. She doesn’t bother brushing it away.

“Whatever. See if you can catch this next one.”

She’s already paddling in the opposite direction, effortlessly catching said wave.

He's in awe, is fucking mesmerized by the way she glides across the surface of the water.

There's a thunderstorm in the forecast. The sky is turning gray.

She’s the current and he’s drowning.

X

Keggers on the beach are one of the best parts about summer.

Next to the tourons, of course.

Obviously.

The flames from the bonfire lick the ends of her hair. She digs her Solo cup into the sand by her feet. She stands then stretches, knocking over her cup and spilling its contents. She doesn't bother looking down. She can always get another.

And so she does.

"Hand me a beer."

"Didn't I just give you one?"

She shrugs, and swipes the bottle in his hand by the neck, downing the remaining contents. A single drop escapes the corner of her mouth. She catches it with her tongue. 

"What? No 'please'?" 

"Manners are for strangers. We're friends."

Just friends.

"We are friends, right?"

And the hesitation in her tone, it's something he's never heard in her voice before.

"Yeah, of course. Totally."

Just fucking friends.

"So, who's the lucky touron tonight?"

"Ah, I don't know. No one's really caught my eye." 

Lies, lies, lies.

"So you mean to tell me," she points to a lanky girl standing beside a lopsided bamboo torch. She looks at him and flitters her fingers. "That perky blonde over there, or that foxy redhead next to her hasn't turned your head even the slightest bit?"

He shakes his head and juts out his lower lip. 

"Nope." He says, popping the p.

"Bullshit." She reaches for one of the floating cans in the beat up red cooler. She pops the tab with a click and a hiss.

She almost takes a sip, but changes her mind the instant her lips touch the cool metal.

"Can I ask you something? And I need you to be, like, completely totally honest, okay?"

"Sure." He swallows, audibly.

She's really close to him now. Like, really fucking close. He can smell the sunscreen on her skin.

She stands on her toes and drags her fingers down the row of buttons on his shirt.

"Are you sure we're just friends?"

The ground feels like quicksand beneath his feet.

I mean, who even came up with the no pogue-on-pogue macking bullshit, anyway?

It was probably Kie.

Shit.

He's fucked.

Like, literally, one hundred and fifty percent fucked because he thinks he might just love this girl, and he thinks he's just high enough, and just buzzed enough that he might actually kiss this girl. 

Her lips are so close to his, and his head begins to spin. He thinks he might fall over, or be sick, or quite possibly both.

She kisses him, and it's fucking fantastic. Her lips are kinda chapped, but also kinda perfect. They taste faintly of vanilla chapstick and Pabst Blue Ribbon. They're sweet, and sticky, and salty, and he's addicted to the taste.

She pulls away. His lips are wet. The air is cold. It's the middle of July. 

“Just friends?” She says, smiles slyly.

“Yeah, right.” He says, kisses her again.


End file.
